


To The Victor Go The Spoils

by Melkwhore



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Angband, Balrogs, D/s, Dehumanization, Dom/sub, Domination, Don't worry, First Age, Fluids, Gender Swapping, Gor - Freeform, Gorean - Freeform, Gorean Slavery, Graphic Sex, Graphic Violence, I promise he likes it, Intersex, It Pronouns, M/M, Mairon is a sticky boy, Objectification, Orcs, Other, Sex Slavery, Sexual Objectification, Sexual Slavery, Silmarillion AU, Submission, Timeline What Timeline, Vaginal Sex, ambiguous genitalia, angbang, gender fluidity, nontraditional genitals, porn without much plot, sexual subjugation, tw rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melkwhore/pseuds/Melkwhore
Summary: Melkor returns to his fortress after defeating his enemies and he has worked up quite an appetite. While his subordinates celebrate with feasts and parties, the Dark Lord craves a different kind of physical release.WARNING: This fic contains graphic sex and violence and a theme of sexual slavery. Trigger warning for rape/non-con.
Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor & Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon
Kudos: 52





	1. Chapter 1

The halls of Angband rang out with the celebratory roars of returning armies and welcoming forces. The enormous bell in the highest tower clanged it’s terrible song and the gates created open with a terrible sound that vibrated the ground below it and the mountains surrounding with an all-encompassing groan. And, on the back of the largest of the dragons, Melkor sat straddled with arms in jubilant fists above his head. Once again, the enemy had been vanquished. 

The slaves hurried to prepare the ensuing feast as the troops unpacked and slung their legs off of their mounts. Balrogs greeted each other in terrible roaring reunions and a few orcs began fighting immediately outside of the front Hall. The reunion was as hedonistic as it was horrifying. Blood sprayed across the freshly-washed walls of the entrance hall as one of Melkor’s minions celebrated with the edge of his sword, causing four heavy thuds against the stone floor as heads or limbs landed haphazardly. The feast had not begun yet, and already the halls reeked of blood and victory. The Lord of the Fortress would not be participating in this element just yet, however. It had been months since Melkor was home, and he had a different target. 

As he strode through the main doors to a clatter of cheering subjugates and screaming subordinates, he lifted a hand to the right or left to acknowledge the praise, but did nothing to deflect it. He deserved it, after all. All of it. But none of these indentured admirers was his destination. Melkor climbed the great steps to his bedchamber, an area left vacated for the entire duration of the battle. No servant was permitted to enter the chambers, and none of the slaves were allowed to be kept there. Now that the Master was home, however, the time came to prepare for his entrance. 

Inside the room, barricaded with a set of heavy iron doors, the titanic bed lay clean and tightly made to guarantee no filthy orc body had touched it. The walls were lined with decorations made of Melkor’s terrible accomplishments: helms of long-dead leaders, still-bloody swords and axes, and even a framed elf ear nailed in with the rest of the trophies. Along the north wall, however, was his greatest treasure. There knelt a perfect row of bodies, all in matching subjugated postures. Each of these subjugates held their hands chained together at the wrist behind their backs, kneeling and sitting back on their heels. Their heads were bowed so that their Lord would not have to look on their faces unless he wished to inspect them. The servants had been instructed to keep these creatures fed and well-handled before anything else, before any in the fortress was to be fed or watered. Still slaves, none of these bodies was treated with anything more than the basic upkeep of an expensive pet, and certainly not with dignity or respect. The master servant of the chamber, however, was very skilled at keeping them beautiful and presentable. 

Many of the beings were elves, each beautiful and flawless and virile, but one stood out among them: Melkor’s favorite. This one was a Maia, taller and more brilliant than the others. Where many wore dark, needle-straight hair, this Maia had flame-orange mocks that twisted and curled in a beautiful chaos. This one was his favorite not just because of its beauty, but because of how eagerly this slave accepted its treatment. 

“Number six,” he announced, holding his hand out and low, palm up. The Maia, once called Mairon, lifted his head and placed his chin in Melkor’s palm for inspection, though those eyes never dared to meet their master’s. It was a shame, in a way- Mairon had the most brilliant, fire-rimmed irises. Oh well. If all this beauty was to be wasted on a slave, Melkor was glad it was his. 

After turning the head left and right a bit to ensure quality, he nodded and the master of the chamber hurriedly unlocked Mairon’s chains. His hands remained locked behind his back as the Maia rose to his feet, but he was finally free from his companions. “Put number three on deck in case I decide I want more,” the Vala barked. Number three, a stunningly beautiful elf with golden ringlets of hair, was also unlocked but did not follow as Melkor led Mairon to the bed. The rest of the slaves were filed out until Melkor was left alone with his toys, inspecting them hungrily. The blond knelt subjugated in the corner while Mairon stood, exposed and even more bare under the eyes of his Master. It had been months since he had been chosen to alleviate his master's appetites, and no matter how many times he endured the treatment, he knew two things: He would never be able to be prepared for what was coming his way, and his Master would be relentless until he was sated.


	2. Chapter 2

Melkor took his time in undressing, though as each piece of armor and raiment fell from his body it landed in a puff of smoke at his feet. All except the black crown upon his head was, evidently, of his own creation, and he carefully removed that and set it on the velvet pillow reserved specifically for it; Silmarils facing the bed so he could see them without effort whenever that clawing urge struck. The entire process of undressing was a show of authority, even to those who knew incredibly well how little freedom they had. The Vala loved the rush of anticipation as he watched his toys’ eyes fill with anxiety and fear as they beheld his physical form, though in Mairon’s he also saw hunger. Need. He finally turned to Mairon and unlocked the Maia’s hands from behind his back. 

“I want pussy from you first,” he hissed. A favorite feature of this toy was its ability to shapeshift into whatever Melkor desired. “Then later I want to watch your pathetic cock drip with need while I take what I deserve. Don’t touch yourself and do  _ not _ let yourself come without permission.” 

Mairon knew the rules even before being reminded. “Yes, my Lord,” he said reverently, dropping to his knees. For the first time, as he knelt before his fate, he lifted his head and met Melkor’s eyes with his own. “May I suck your cock, my Lord?” 

There was no answer necessary. Standing bare and virile, rippling with victory and still high from the thrill of brutal killing, Melkor felt his cock throb heavily as it hung between his things as if giving its own consent with a nod. Mairon cautiously guided his mouth to his Lord’s tip - he wouldn’t dare try to use his hands - and opened his lips as if to coax enthusiasm from its owner.  _ His _ owner. With only his mouth as a guide, Mairon began by administering little kitten licks along the thick, velvet shaft, then offered little laving kisses down his master’s length until he reached the tip. The Vala was never known to need much coaxing to convince his cock to respond and, therefore, he had been hard and eager before he even entered the room. This tenderness and care was not what Melkor needed, and he took over by holding the back of Mairon’s head and thrusting forward hard. Sweet as these light touches were, it seemed that even if he had a slave for this task, he still had to do things himself if he wanted them done with any degree of speed. Typical.

Mairon gagged at first, a sound that drew a cruel laugh from his Master that was followed by a hard slap to the face. The Maia quickly adjusted the anatomy of his mouth to accommodate for the Vala’s length as it continued to pump into his throat. Over the years, Mairon had learned that his Master liked the sound of a gagging subjugate and he therefore allowed his throat to tense up to allow for the occasional choking sound. The sensation was uncomfortable, but, of course, Melkor had no concerns for his slaves’ comfort. 

At the third or fourth gag, Melkor found himself unable to stand any longer. He roughly drew out of Mairon’s mouth and slapped his toy’s face again, hard enough that it left a red mark, then backed up and sat on the edge of the bed. Mairon’s breathing came quickly as he tried to collect himself, but, hands still kept to his sides, he turned on his knees and sat back on his heels as he settled into his rightful place between Melkor’s thighs. 

Looking up at the Vala in his full glory was truly a spiritual experience. No matter how nonconsensual his captivity at Angband was originally, and how resistant he had been to serving his Lord in this particular way, Mairon had grown to love his master over the years and was always surprised and captivated by the breathtaking contours of his Hröa, this beautiful form he had taken. The Dark Vala’s body was as hard and unforgiving as its master. His ash-colored flesh was interrupted with a series of deep, goring scars that somehow only made him more breathtaking. Seated back like this and reclined on his elbows, Mairon got a perfect view of the musculature of those strong, iron-hard quadriceps and the sharp V cut into his torso that seemed to direct all attention to the seat of his power, which rested alert but heavy off to one side. Like all the Valar, Melkor’s abdomen was sculpted and beautifully crafted, though the scars that crossed it seemed to add to the terrible beauty of this immortal form instead of subtracting from it. 

While Mairon’s wide, golden eyes scanned his master’s figure, only having gotten to take in as high as the firm, wide planes of his pectorals, Melkor cleared his throat to call his attention back. He placed one hand on his cock and gave it a few strokes, then directed Mairon back to his target; his only purpose, as far as Melkor was concerned. Before the Maia could reach his target, now brought back on task, Melkor sat up slightly and slapped the fire-haired Maia hard across the face again, then grasped that face in one hand, squishing his soft cheeks. 

  
“Do your fucking job,” he warned, voice dark and cruel. “You’re not here to take in the sights.” 

Mairon’s eyes widened and he nodded with some difficulty, returning to Melkor’s cock before he could receive another reprimand. 

He didn’t have to be told twice. Now with free reign and a dark handprint forming on his face, Mairon ran his tongue apologetically over his master’s head before sinking down and beginning the bulk of his work. The Maia skillfully lapped and sucked at the Vala’s cock as he bobbed his head in a slow but syncopated rhythm, allowing himself to gag any time Melkor bucked his hips upward. In this position, he knew he had more power than was due to someone in his subservient position: but Mairon wouldn’t dare transgress. The last slave to allow his teeth to run over the Vala’s shaft had suffered the loss of his head. Melkor had torn it off with his own hands and let it lay in the slaves’ chamber for a week until any of the orcs were permitted to clean it up. While Mairon had begun to agree that his main purpose in life was to please his master, he clung to the idea that he was too beautiful a creature to suffer the same fate. 

Soon, Melkor reached up and gripped his slave’s head in his hands, then roughly guided the Maia’s beautiful mouth to meet the base of his cock. He began to lift his hips to speed up the pace and enhance the rhythm. The friction between the two built up into a punishing heat and Mairon began to feel a combination of saliva and precum drip from his mouth, dripping onto Melkor’s pelvis as he thrusted upward. It was all the Maia could do to hold on and not to moan out - Melkor did not need to know how much he was enjoying being used as a fucktoy - but he did let out a soft sound of pleasure along with the wet gags that came with each thrust. 

The Vala clenched his teeth and groaned out something unintelligible, and his fingers curled into the fire-orange hair to hold tightly. Some individual strands would be coming with him when he withdrew his fingers, as eager to hold on to their master as the rest of Mairon’s body. Melkor let his head fall back as his first climax slammed through him, fueled by pent-up energy and effort from war. Mairon never had the chance to spit, not that he would ever dare to do so. The Black Enemy poured his climax into his throat and Mairon swallowed eagerly as he felt the firm structure under silken skin pulsed and contracted in pleasure. It was enough to further ignite Mairon’s own arousal, and he used that energy to shift his anatomy into a receptive one, the pussy Melkor demanded, so he could be as prepared as possible. In all of his encounters with the Lord of Angband, Mairon had learned that the Vala never stopped at one climax, and he would not stop until he was completely sated. 


End file.
